Chapter 438: Dinner

The kitchen grew busier while they talked. Lids tapped against pots, plates stacked, and water ran briefly in the sink before stopping again.

From the next room, Sacha’s voice carried as she rummaged through cupboards, asking where the good bowls were as if the house had been waiting all this time for her to remember it.

She appeared a moment later with a stack of dishes balanced in both hands, wearing the confidence of someone who had appointed herself staff years ago and never quite resigned.

"Move," she ordered cheerfully.

Stan shifted his chair.

"Not you. The plates."

"Ah."

Sacha set the dishes down one by one and began serving without waiting for permission. She placed a generous portion in front of Stan, another in front of Mia, and only then helped herself, as if to prevent anyone from accusing her of neglecting her own plate. Steam rose immediately.

The stew arrived whole, the meat, the spices, the deep savory scent of something that had simmered long enough for every ingredient to surrender its stubbornness and agree to become dinner.

She sat with a satisfied sigh and looked between Stan and Mia, her mouth slowly curling into a pout. "You two have probably forgotten I even exist now that you’ve had some alone time together."

Stan only smiled, calm and unbothered, as if the accusation were weather he had already dressed for. Mia looked down at her plate. Color climbed her cheeks as though the ceramic had given it to her.

"And you looked so quiet when I walked in," Sacha continued, delighted. "Cozy. Peaceful. Like I interrupted a very important private meeting."

"We were just talking," Mia said.

"To him?"

Mia hesitated.

Sacha gasped softly. "How scandalous."

Mia gave her an embarrassed look, and Sacha laughed. "Relax. I’m teasing." She picked up her spoon, then glanced at Stan again. "Besides, you have that look."

"What look?"

"The one you get when you’re pretending nothing happened."

"Nothing happened."

"Exactly."

Mrs. Edith followed only seconds later with more dishes, rice, bread, vegetables, and another bowl that smelled of spice and time. "Make room," she said.

The table filled quickly. Steam braided itself through the warm light. Chairs scraped against the floor. Someone passed a napkin that did not belong to them, and no one bothered correcting it.

"Eat properly," Mrs. Edith said as she finally sat down. "Not like people grazing at a train station. Sit. Pass the food. And thank the cook, even if one of you helped and will try to claim half the credit."

Sacha placed a hand over her chest. "I stirred. Stirring is half the work."

"You asked where the salt was twice."

"I was supervising."

"You were standing beside the salt."

Sacha paused. "That was strategic supervision."

Mrs. Edith smiled. "One quarter, if I am generous."

Stan chuckled, and Sacha pointed at him at once. "Don’t laugh. You benefited from my labor."

"I know."

"Good."

They settled into their places: Mrs. Edith in her familiar seat, Sacha opposite her already wearing the expression of someone preparing to cause trouble, Stan and Mia close enough that their plates seemed to belong to the same conversation. For a few moments nobody spoke. Then utensils found work, and the first mouthfuls made conversation wait, briefly, out of respect.

Mia was the first to break the silence. "This tastes like home."

Stan nodded after another bite. "It’s good."

Mrs. Edith looked at him with a teasing smile. "Just good?"

Despite knowing she was only teasing him, he corrected himself immediately. "Better than good."

"That sounds more respectful." She returned to her meal. "Eat more than compliments. Compliments don’t fill a plate."

Sacha pointed her fork toward the stew. "I chopped."

"You chopped one onion."

"A very important onion."

"That onion would have been chopped whether you were there or not."

"It cried for me."

"The onion cries for everyone," Mrs. Edith replied. "Do not make it personal."

Laughter loosened the table. Dishes moved from hand to hand, rice, meat that had long since surrendered its stubbornness, bread torn apart and shared without ceremony. The house seemed to lean in around the four of them, as if it remembered this arrangement and approved.

After a few more bites, Mrs. Edith looked at Sacha over the rim of her cup. "And you? How have you been all these years? How’s work? Have you been keeping yourself out of trouble? Made any new friends? Met anyone interesting?"

Sacha chewed thoughtfully before swallowing. "Work has been... work."

"That means trouble."

"It means previous trouble."

Mrs. Edith raised an eyebrow.

Sacha smiled. "I’ve had a few jobs."

"A few?"

"Yes."

"How many is a few?"

"Depends on whether we’re counting the ones I quit before they could fire me."

Stan lowered his eyes to his plate, hiding a smile. Mia noticed.

"You already know about this?"

"Some of it," Stan said.

"Of course he does," Sacha said. "He has an annoying habit of knowing things."

Mrs. Edith leaned forward slightly. "Well?"

Sacha shrugged. "My first proper job after leaving school was at a small accounting firm. Nothing glamorous. Mostly invoices, payroll, reports, chasing people who owed money, and fixing mistakes other people insisted weren’t mistakes."

"That sounds familiar," Stan murmured.

Sacha ignored him. "The work itself wasn’t bad. I actually liked it. The people were decent enough, too. But my supervisor had this wonderful philosophy that if a problem wasn’t noticed by the client, it wasn’t a problem."

Mrs. Edith frowned. "That sounds dangerous."

"It was."

"What happened?"

"I found an error in one of the quarterly reports. It wasn’t huge, but it would have caused a client to overpay by a fairly embarrassing amount."

"And?"

"I pointed it out." Sacha paused dramatically. "My supervisor told me to leave it."

Mia looked up. "You didn’t."

"Of course I didn’t."

Stan smiled faintly as Sacha continued. "So I corrected it myself and sent the proper figures to the client."

"And your supervisor?"

"Angry."

"Very?"

"He called me disrespectful."

Mrs. Edith shook her head. Sacha grinned. "I told him respecting his position didn’t mean respecting a mistake."

Stan coughed into his cup. Mia laughed. Mrs. Edith gave Sacha a look that was half amusement and half warning.

"You always had a sharp tongue."

"I’ve improved."

"You have not."

"Thank you."

"That wasn’t praise."

"I’ll take it anyway." Sacha tore off a piece of bread. "That job lasted eight months."

"And the next?"

"Customer service."

Mrs. Edith blinked. "You?"

"Yes, me."

"How long?"

"Six months."

"What happened?"

"I discovered that customers are not always right."

Mrs. Edith sighed. "Sacha."

"I know, I know. That’s apparently not something you’re supposed to say aloud."